


Life in Decay

by Anonymous



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angels of Death, Dark Magic, Death, Endgame Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Graphic Description, Grim Reapers, Heavy Angst, Human Louis Tomlinson, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Reaper Harry Styles, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28499739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Harry had been a grim reaper for a very, very long time. He's continued to delay his advancement to the pearly gates, but only for the sake of a friend greatly mistreated for a costly sin--loving humanity.As the reapers face a threat not seen for many centuries, Harry must confront the same sin that would put his integrity into question and force him to determine whether one human is worth throwing it all away.It certainly doesn't help that he may very well have to kill the same human in the weeks to come.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 2
Collections: Anonymous





	Life in Decay

**Author's Note:**

> I will only include a trigger warning once at the very beginning of this fic, just because from the get-go there are depictions of death/dying and all that can entail (TW: blood, suicide, etc.), and that it is safe to say that with a major overlying theme like Death every chapter has the chance to include these triggers. I will not be overly graphic in my descriptions of mechanisms of death but aim to give a general description of how a subject died, but don't want to expose anyone to anything harmful to their mental health. 
> 
> With that said, don't like, don't read--this story is fiction and any such characterizations, relationships, or plot details are entirely construed by my own imagination (if you can't decipher fiction from reality, then you have bigger problems to face).

Death was a fact known to every living creature. It was the one true promise that the mortals could hold dear to their heart. However, as dear as it was, very few found solace in the faultless sublimity of it all. 

Even Tyr could understand why the act made many squeamish. Had she not been created for the sole purpose of harboring souls, perhaps she would feel some discomfort as well. 

She was currently in a forest in Northern America. One of those land plots dedicated to forestry and wildlife, maybe. In the end it did not matter. The man before her would succumb to the cold within minutes, then her work would be done and she would move on. 

The slower deaths were either the easiest or most difficult to witness. Hypothermia was the most forgiving of the killers, gently lulling its subjects to a never-ending sleep. 

As the man’s soul passed, so did Tyr, letting the gale winds pull her to her next witnessing. 

A city, a nasty car accident, many screams clouded by oncoming sirens. While surveying the scene, she spotted the ever-familiar black cloak. 

Harold must’ve spotted her first. He had already begun to cross the street, a shy grin forming on his face. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” she called out. 

His smile grew as he ditched any effort to conceal it. “What’s it been? Surely a few decades, at least.”

Tyr resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Seeing as you were here first, the rules encourage me to let you handle things from here.”

“My, my, since when does the most senior of reapers adhere so strictly to mere guidelines?”

“You say this as if you are not  _ also _ a senior-most grim, and do not be so meek to pretend like you’ve been a good influence on me.”

They stood staring each other down until both burst into laughter. Had they been visible to the first responders and victims and onlookers, it would be much akin to a giggle at a funeral. Even if they were visible, it would not be their laughter that would be found inappropriate. 

All it would take was one look at the sharpness at which gastly white skin stretched taut over bone, paired with owlish eyes accented by dark circles, alongside their much outdated attire to understand these two creatures did not belong on the mortal plane. Eldritch horrors would likely be more appealing than to ever look a reaper dead in the eye and comprehend what was before you. 

As the old friends embraced, souls parted to their final resting place. As they pulled away from each other, they looked at the scene before them to notice one wavering in-between. 

Tyr walked closer out of instinct. It was a mother, the sole survivor of her family. Firefighters were working to free her from the steel deathtrap she laid in. Her soul was holding on, but just barely. 

“I do detest when this happens,” she commented, and Harry hummed his agreement. 

“Do you care to influence her, or let it decide on its own?” he asked in return. 

And that was the million-dollar question, was it not? Reveal herself to the nearly-parted and tell her the fight to survive would be a lonely one? Or stay a silent witness through it all in the name of free-will?

Even better, she could leave now and assure some form of survival, albeit a potentially loathsome one. If there were no reaper to witness, there would be no death. At least not immediately, until another reaper was summoned forth. 

“I only like to influence them when encouraging their will to live. Sadly, it does not happen as often as I would like,” she admitted. 

“Do they still let you witness suicides?”

Tyr scoffed. “If that were the case, it would not be a leading cause of death and you know it.”

“Your affection for humanity is not a weakness, and I wish they would see it for what it is.”

The soul passed on, and their work there was done. They shouldn’t linger, at least not where the veil had just been stretched so thin. Harry gripped her elbow, pulling her with him to his next witnessing. 

Another hiker stranded in the woods, but this time with an open fracture disallowing her to attempt any sort of escape as the night crept up. If the blood loss didn’t do her in, perhaps the elements, or a wild animal. Either way, it would be slow, which gave them more time to chat. 

She turned to her companion. “I’m surprised you’ve stuck around this long, I would’ve thought for sure that you’d take a position upstairs with such a faultless record.”

He averted his attention over to some crows battling it out atop a leafless maple. They stood in silence for some time, until it was proper dark and the moon was visible. But time was relative to cosmic beings, and their hours were comparable to a mortal’s seconds. 

“We’re the only two that have been here this long, and I rather like it here,” he finally answered, “besides, any friends I had have been upstairs for almost two millenia now, one could argue I hardly know them anymore.”

“That’s a non-excuse if I’ve ever heard one. You’ve always been a favorite, you’re too nonabrasive to be disliked. Anyone would be more than happy to catch up on old times once you arrived. Do you seriously enjoy it here this much, when there are less grueling tasks awaiting you?”  
Neither would say it, how Tyr had served a 10,000-year sentence for what she’d done. Even now that it was long over, she refused to move upstairs, for she knew the stigma and contempt that awaited her. At least down here, the other reapers were too inexperienced to think themselves better, and feared her instead of being repulsed by her. 

They both knew the real reason he’d stuck by her side this long. Neither had ever been bold enough to speak it aloud. 

The next time they saw each other was in very different circumstances. It was a proper Summoning, all reapers of their Order called together in urgency. This time, Tyr had arrived first, and stood in the center of the gathered sea of black cloaks. The moment Harold’s feet brushed the ground, the sea parted for him faster than a snap of lightning. 

The two eldest reapers greeted each other in a quick glance before examining the mess before them. On a stone slab raised above the ground lay a wheezing grim, thrashing to-and-fro as he faded before them. 

“It’s been a very long time since we’ve seen this sort of magic,” Harry commented. 

Tyr raised a hand over the pitiful creature, feeling the different energies that radiated off him. She frowned, and the crowd around them stepped a few paces back at the sign. 

“Very botched magic, at that. It’s a mixture of Grecian sacrifice and Pagan spellwork, with influences of  _ contemporary satanism _ -” the words were said with great distaste--“It should’ve been obvious that throwing in nonsense would stain the integrity of the binding. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the work of a child!” 

With that, she let her hand rest atop the grim’s chest, and his suffering ended as he faded from existence. Harry noted that perhaps it was a good thing, to have two elders present, the same banishing energy would’ve required at least several novices and not been as quick. 

A voice from behind them spoke up. “Why would a mortal attempt something like this?” 

In a situation less dire, Harry might have laughed. “When done properly, mortals could bind a reaper to do their bidding; allow them to evade death, bring about early retirement onto their enemies, that sort of thing. We believed the practice to have died out as the humans moved away from such concrete beliefs in the supernatural.”

Tyr rolled her neck, allowing the vertebrae to audibly crack before speaking. 

“If someone is trying to master Death, we need to neutralize the threat before it can disrupt the balance.”

The same inquisitive grim from before braved another inquiry: “And how will we go about that?”

Harry met Tyr’s eyes, both reaching the same silent agreement. “We must execute a divine intervention.” 


End file.
